


She Could Never Compare to You

by Bonesout, grandfatherclock



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Jealousy, Mentions of Astrid—this is not very positive towards Ms. Astrid CriticalRole!!!, Self-Hatred, Wobbly Perspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24882133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonesout/pseuds/Bonesout, https://archiveofourown.org/users/grandfatherclock/pseuds/grandfatherclock
Summary: Caleb nurses a wound and Jester feels jealousy fester inside of her. They talk it out in the quiet of Caleb's bedroom.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 8
Kudos: 115





	She Could Never Compare to You

**Author's Note:**

> WOO, WIDOJEST FOOD. Bones & I worked on an RP that became a fic! The perspective jumps between Caleb and Jester for that reason.
> 
> No hate meant for Astrid CriticalRole, Jester is just exceedingly jealous of her as an extension about her own insecurities regarding how important she is to the people she cares about.

There's something about the taste of blood over his tongue.

He can hear shouting in the background, of course—Beauregard always _screams_ when someone goes down, he remembers how her low voice broke when Fjord did. When the green-turned red corpse thudded against the planked floor of the Ball-Eater’s deck. Caleb is surrounded by fire, it's a stupid habit but he keeps himself surrounded by fire, and through the tendrils of steam and radiating heat his gaze meets Nott’s. Her slitted eyes sharpen and shine in equal measure.

A comforting face but not the one he’s searching out in that half-second.

Caleb Widogast finds himself looking for freckled blue as his shoulder nearly dislodges from the rest of him, greatsword splintering bone. His obsessive mind rarely forgets but in these bloodied moments he can’t quite recall why they took this quest. Money… answers? One of the shackles of the Chained Oblivion… something so big in its importance that it's hard to fully grasp.

_Jester_ , he mumbles, staring at her face over his. As much as the group jeers at her about preferring violence to healing, he swears he's never felt as competently healed as when her lips touch his forehead, dark blue hair pulling over her shoulders.

Her lips pull into a scared little smile, and it's the last thing he sees.

* * *

And the first thing he remembers when he wakes up.

Caleb clears his throat, back propped up by far too many pillows. In his room… in the Xhorhouse… he finds Jester's firm and muscular back, wearing a sundress that shows off her shoulders. She's painting something on his wall, something obscured by the frame of her, and _everything hurts, everything hurts_.

"Jester," he groans, sitting up. He runs a hand through his hair… braided. Of course. He wonders if it was Nott, or… His blush deepens as Jester continues to work. "What are you doing to my wall?" He can feel warmth inflect over his voice, a kind of breathlessness that makes him wince. He wonders if Yasha would smile knowingly if she could see him, multi-coloured eyes glittering intelligently.

He wonders how damned _obvious_ he is.

The woman he watches pauses only for a moment, looking over her shoulder at Caleb, inky blue hair framing her face, eyes wide with relief as she sees him.

"Don't move anymore, you were bleeding _pretty_ badly, Cayleb," she says, pointing a finger covered in paint at him. The playfulness and relief in her tone washes over her voice, to see his eyes open again, hear his voice. Even if it does sound hoarse.

Jester turns back to her painting, tail swishing back and forth against the ground. As soon as she was _sure_ Caleb was stable, she hadn't left this spot, dipping her brush in over and over, moving against his wall… avoiding the colour red. Of course, she had seen her friends fall before, barely able to save them… but this last time was different. It was sticky and it was _scary._ Thank the gods for the Traveler.

Painting has always kept her fears at bay.

"I'm painting," she responds at last, back still turned to him. "Your room is kinda boring, Cayleb. Besides, I wasn't just going to leave you here by yourself, that would be pretty shitty of me." She leans forward, adding a detail to the piece, before leaning back again, sneaking another glance at him.

Eye contact is difficult even in the best of times. Caleb _blinks_ , and as Jester's gaze skirts up his arm and to his face, Caleb does his best to meet it. He ends up focusing somewhere between her left eye and the bridge of her nose and exhales through his teeth.

Slowly he raises his right hand, shifting his left shoulder and causing soft spasms of pain to run over his skin. He touches where the wound _should_ be, but isn't, and shoots Jester a grateful smile, looking around at the colourful mess that's become his previously sparse bed. Unicorn pillows, hamster pillows, pillowcases with designs of candies…

His bed looks like _Jester's_ with all she left him. His blanket is a soft, fluffy pink. 

" _Blueberry_ ," he says like an incantation, without even meaning to. It's that overwhelming quality of her—she inundates his senses until all he can think of is her smile. Her expression. The jut of her lower lip. _Gottverdammt_ , he's in deep, _he's in so deep_. "You didn't have to—I'm just…" He huffs out a soft laugh, lips twisting up in a crooked smile. "You're a good friend." 

He uses that word like a knife against himself. _Friend_. She's a _friend_.

Caleb tries to look past her. "What are you painting?"

She smiles to herself, pride and _victory_ swelling in her chest.

Jester moves aside, revealing her mindless project for the past few hours. Just as she had done with the other rooms, this mural of sorts matched Caleb. She was inspired by the time they went to Rexxentrum, the huge, cramped buildings… and the soft grasses, miles and miles of fields. Tiny flowers, and she even had Caleb's spell book open at her side to copy some of the patterns and shapes, etching them with blues and purples. Colours that reminded her of him. 

And of course, plenty of room for… a touch of Jester. A dick here, a unicorn there… _maybe._ Maybe it was Jester projecting how she wished a little bit of her could be a part of Caleb. All of his hard work, all of his past, and—

"Do you like it?" she asks, biting her lip as she turns to face him. There's yellow on her cheek, which is much better than the red that was there earlier. She giggles as she points to the tiny Frumpkin in the corner, lounging in the grasses. "I think this is my favourite part." She looks at Caleb, who looks… honestly, _ridiculous_ in her arrangement, eyes wide and soft despite the exhaustion he must be feeling, smothered by her welcome back to him.

Maybe it was a bit over the top.

Caleb pulls his braid to his front so it sits on his shoulder. He then sits up, shifting so his legs teetered off the edge of his bed and his feet hit the cold floorboards. His eyes widen further as he takes in the delightful, magnetic fantasia of _colour_ and texture and sensation over his wall.

The skyline of Rexxentrum that seemed to nearly block out the sunlight some days when he was just a child, laughing with Eodwulf and fingers intertwined with Astrid's as they strolled the busy streets.

The _flowers_ … the rolling and endless hills of Blumenthal. Sparkling rivers and wheels splattering mud against him as he walked down the side of the road. Bren liked to send _Dancing Lights_ down the way of the wretched driver, scaring him out of his wits in fear that the measly kid was sending harmful fiery devastation unto his small cart.

The pieces of Jester are his favourite part.

His eyes flit over the mural, searching out the dicks methodologically as Jester gazes at him with wide and innocent eyes. He _smirks_ , raising an eyebrow at her, and puts up four fingers. "First of all," he says seriously, "Jester, it is so beautiful, I am no artist"—he remembers the scrawled Jester-angel he once drew in the snow and resists the urge to wince guiltily, as if she could read his mind—"so I forgive the… simplicity of my compliments. But the colour is so vibrant… the dicks so shapely…" 

He twiddles his four fingers in the air. "I found four. How many did I miss?"

Jester looks back up at Caleb, a smile growing as he speaks.

"I'm _shocked_ , Caleb!" Jester says, pretending to be surprised. "You missed three. Surely your eye is trained to my art by now…" She points to all seven, giggling especially at the one that appeared to be an entire spell circle. Jester brushes her hands on her dress, adding more paint to the fabric, before sitting next to Caleb, cross-legged, looking at her masterpiece with him. 

"How do you feel?" She asks suddenly, looking him over, as if her magic somehow hadn't worked this time. She lifts the braid— _her_ braid—and checks for anything she might have missed in her haze of worry over him. "You're like super lucky I was so close. Like, you were bleeding a _lot_ , and it was really scary, I haven't seen someone bleed that much in a long time…" Her voice falters a little by the end, heart beating faster as she's reminded of Caleb, sprawled out, body nearly in two. Red staining him, her, and then she _kissed_ him out of panic… she gulps, hoping he doesn’t remember that.

But not minding if he did.

"I'm a pretty good healer!" she says cheerfully, recovering from the moment, focusing on how alive Caleb looked instead.

He sometimes curses his pale skin. When he blushes… it turns _splotchy_. Obvious. It's one of the things Astrid chided him about. _You're usually such a great liar, Schatz_ , she would groan as they practiced their lines on each other. Master Ikithon always had lines for them to practice. _How will you convince anyone of anything when you're red like a tomato?_

Bren rolled his eyes at her and then pulled her close for a wicked little kiss. Her laugh became muffled against his mouth. _Because I mean it when I'm with youuuuu_ , he teased her, fingers running through her hair in the boyish way that one tended to act with their first romantic partner. 

Caleb is entirely too still as Jester touches the braid she made. It's as if his entire body is taut like a string, his muscles tense with eager anticipation at her touch. When she pulls away he can feel the breath leave his lips and blinks, nodding in agreement as his brain catches up to what she says. "You're the _best_ healer," he whispers, and then leans in conspiratorially to whisper, "Don't tell Caduceus."

Jester giggles, hugging herself. She delights in his words, the little things, _blueberry_ , and how he never denied a thing about her.

He looks distracted, though. Distance in his eyes, lips pressed, just like he did when he was thinking. When he was reading, silently scratching at his face, eyes taking information in. Jester had always wanted to understand what was in his head, what made his eyebrows turn like that, what made him say such nice things.

"Does… does it remind you of home at all?" Jester asks, her cheeks going purple from how much she had been staring at him. It was a little different when he was awake and she wasn't distracted with painting. "The painting, I mean. I know we weren't there for long, and we barely got to the coolest stuff, which is too bad because I was really excited to hear all about it…" She pouts. She had been looking forward to… getting to know him in a different way. "I thought it… might… help."

She knew Caleb wasn't the most fond of his past, but it was his _home_ right? It's what made him the person he was now, smart and capable, kind and gentle. Surely he didn't hate _everything_.

Colour predictably floods his cheeks. "Well, um. Ah." He clears his throat, the words stuck in his throat. His lips try to work into a smile, and he gestures to the outrageous extent she went through on his behalf. Him. He resists the urge to shudder, _the way he lets her care is so selfish and obscene_.

It's a tricky thing, with Jester. She loves stories, she deserves good ones. And oftentimes she ends up stringing them out of him, and not in a way that he resents—she's just so damned… warm that she makes _him_ want to be warm. Not blistering and cruel with his fire, just… gentle like a flickering candle.

"Rexxentrum isn't always so… crushing, you know? We were in the company of some… personalities"—he doesn't want to think about the sanatorium, doesn't want to think of the Martinet's lips twisting into a frown over his cup of tea as cold eyes appraise over him, doesn't want to think of _Bren_ passing through Trent's smug lips—"but you should see it during Winter's Crest. Or the week before school starts, the Academy has this tradition of lighting lanterns before the academic year. Astrid and I would send ours off together." 

Jester pouts at the mention of Astrid. It is immediate, she can’t help it.

She had debated on adding her to the mural. _About your height, a handsome nose…_ Someone that meant a lot to Caleb. But even as she had dipped her brush into the dark browns, getting ready to paint her hair… she couldn't. Something about it made her squirm, made her sour about how Caleb talked about her. How close he had been to her back when they were in Rexxentrum, how she could practically feel how much it had hurt Caleb.

Caleb laughs softly, shakily. His eyebrow twitches up at the _pout_ but he has no idea what that even means. He turns awkward, and Jester wonders what he makes of her momentary silence. "It was like a sea of lights," he murmurs. "So much hope for the school year." His voice turns a little melancholic and he scoffs internally to himself. _You're such a joke_.

He peers at Jester. "Your painting reminds me of so much," he says truthfully. "Does painting the walls remind you of… home? The Lavish Chateau?"

Jester blinks, focusing back on what Caleb was saying. She was traveling with Caleb's words, inviting herself to those events, to those memories, to the lighting of lanterns, to watching him leave for school… so she smiles, shoving the jealousy away.

"It does," she says brightly, thinking of her own home. How excited she had been to show her friends, show them her old room, her mother's extraordinary talent. "Not nearly as loud, that's for sure, but passing the time was easiest when I was painting." She shrugs. "Besides, it gave me an excuse to show Momma something after she was done working! I think that was always my favourite part."

Caleb smiles as he listens. "I liked showing off my magic to my family too," he confesses, so _so_ easily.

His gaze runs over her bare shoulders, catching on her glittering tattoo, and he clears his throat as his eyes flit away. "I learned _Dancing Lights_ because I kept using up all the oil to keep the lanterns on through the night as I studied… my mother was so impressed when I showed her this." He snaps his fingers absent-mindedly and pale green floating bulbs of lights appear over them.

_Widogast's Pretty Lights_. The gag over how he names his spells sounds so much sweeter in her lips. Her skin looks brilliant under the arcane brightness.

He swallows as he thinks of Jester sitting with him, thinking of her passing the time in her lonesome. He was such a bloodstained, broken _mess_ on the floor when she found him. "That was a pretty tough fight," he murmurs, wincing. There's a distinct lack of red painted on his wall. "I'm sorry you had to see me like that."

Jester smiles, her gaze darting to each of the lights. Her gaze bright, tattoo even brighter as it reflects the green light against her skin.

She turns to Caleb, shaking her head, curls bouncing against her shoulders. “Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault, Cayleb.” Even as she says it, the fear on her face is evident. Around Caleb, it was difficult for her to hide her emotions, even her quietest ones. Somehow he always knew if she was upset, or annoyed… and didn’t turn it away. Maybe that’s why it was easier. “… I mean, it was pretty terrible. I didn’t like it at all…” she reaches to tap his nose, all there, not bloodied and broken. “But you’re all here now! All better, and I _think_ I cleaned you all off…” She flushes as she remembers how she had to peel his dirtied clothes off, replacing them with fresh, loose fabric before kissing his forehead and tucking him into bed…

Definitely not as romantic as she always hoped it would be.

“I’m really glad you’re okay,” she whispers.

Caleb has initiated hugs before. It was a skill that came easier to him as a child, thoughtlessly and enthusiastically burying his head into Astrid's neck or Eodwulf's chest. Overtime, with the training, it all became… less thoughtless. Less enthusiastic. The way the three of them loved each other, the way Bren loved Astrid, became calculated, careful. A dance between, _What touch can she take right now?_ and _Will she tell Master Ikithon if I cry?_ and _All we talk about is the Empire now, all we have between us is the Empire now_ —

Endless, circular thought. The one time he felt free of it was when he broke the _Polymorph_ and kissed Nott on the forehead. The flap of the wings was still in his ears as he allowed himself that intimacy. Something about the brain of an eagle, that body untouched with his scars, made it easier. Made it simple.

He thinks a million brutal things as he wraps his arms around her. Her body is cool against his, most tend to be but _especially_ hers, and he can feel her exhale against his chest. "I'm really glad you're okay," he murmurs, repeating her words in his intonation. And then, " _Jester_ ," in completion of the sentence.

Blackened fingers thread through her hair. Thoughtlessly. The hug was careful but the touch of the pads of his fingers against silky hair _isn’t_.

He doesn't know what to do about that.

Jester hugs him back without hesitation. Feeling his body, stitched back together by her words, her faith, and devotion was a feeling she could barely describe. She can feel the fire beneath his skin, burning and alive, and shivers the _slightest_ as his fingers move through her hair, so practiced and careful with everything they did. Every movement he made was so… _meaningful._

Was she meaningful to him? Was she there to make the stitches, fill the cracks in his heart, even when his scars itched? Was that _all?_

She hugs him tighter, as if that might prove something to him. It meant something to _her._

“Oh _Cayleb_. You don’t have to worry about me,” she says gently, talking against his shoulder. “I am pretty strong, _and_ pretty cool.” Her tail snakes upward, tapping him on the nose again.

"I can't help but worry about you," he retorts almost immediately, and he smiles at the heart-shaped base of her tail. Freckled and blue and cute, like the rest of her. His eyes flit once more to the perch between her nose and eye, and he says, pulling her close and feeling the pattern of her inhale and exhale, "Even though you are _pretty_ strong and _pretty_ cool," he agrees.

A pause. He can feel her careful movement, making sure not to put too much pressure on his shoulder. Then, gently, he murmurs, "You're so strong and cool that I'm worried you don’t… get what you need, is all." He's shaking a little, and finally forces himself to meet the bright violet of her inquisitive gaze. "You don't have to be strong and cool, all the time. I would still… think you're brave and amazing and the best even if you…" His rubs his hands together, nervous. Jester Lavorre is the most hidden person he's ever met, and yes, that includes the reflection he sees in the mirror each day.

Flashes of memories hit him. _Please, Traveler_ , she was crying, the wetness on her cheeks making her skin shine paler there. Her hair was a ragged mess, her palms bloodstained as she tried to hold him. _No, oh no_ …

He hugs her tightly, burying her face in his chest for just a moment. Then he pulls her back by the shoulder to gaze at her intently, lest he buck under the weight of his desires and keep holding her for far too long. "I'm sorry I scared you," he says. "I'm going to be careful, okay? Let my _Echo_ run into battle for me." He tries to make his tone just a little lighter, just slightly easier, but it falls flat.

Jester manages a sad smile, blinking tears from her eyes. How did he do it? How did he manage to pluck the emotions from her eyes, accept them, and make her feel like _this?_ Fluttery and warm, and confident in _everything_ she felt. _Especially_ whatever it was that whispered his name in her dreams.

“Thank you,” she says shyly, ducking her head away, looking at the mural again. “You had _better_ be careful, or I’ll have to send my duplicate to heal your _Echo_!” She gives his braid a gentle tug as a few giggles fall from her lips, so eager and greedy to have his attention, have his words about _her_ , and let herself believe it.

She wonders if she’s as strong as Astrid. As _cool_ as her. Brave, bright, all the words Caleb used to describe her. Jester grabs Caleb’s hands, stopping his movements, knowing his nervous habits.

“Thank you,” she says again. “For… letting me be _me_ , Cayleb. Even if it’s not the best version of me.” She shrugs. “I like all of you too.”

He stares at her for a long while, gaze running over the intricacies of her face. A gentle huff of a laugh makes it through his lips as he imagines Jester's duplicate running up to the ghostly form of his echo. "I don't actually know if an _Echo_ can be healed," he muses, and smiles down at Jester. "That would be an interesting experiment, Lavorre." 

Then his gaze drops down to their hands, his blackened fingertips against her blue. The intimacy he was trying to distract himself from. "I love when you're _you_ ," he says, thanking the _stars_ —he's long past the days he would thank Pelor—that he didn't stumble into _I love you_. An equally true statement, but… dangerous. It was dangerous to say.

His jaw works against itself. "We are… a mess of a family," he says, extending that word out messily. Shakily. He remembers the way Jester said to Yasha, _We could be your new family_ , and even now it feels impossible to feel like her warmth could apply to him. "I would not blame you if you ran off with the Traveler"—his eyebrow twitches as he remembers how _rude_ the group was to Jester's _best friend_ —"but I’m… very glad _this_ version of you is here."

She giggles, squeezing his hands, the fingers that had just been in her blue locks. She wants to guide his back there again, never to leave, let him learn how it feels to have her. This was nice too, though. This was nice.

“Hmm, _you never knoooow_ ,” she teases with a wink. “I _could_ run away. Not alone, of course, that wouldn’t be fun.” She bites her lip, eyes on Caleb as she says her next words carefully. “Like, what if I ran away with you? Would we go to Rexxentrum? So you could show me everything? Properly, and like, we could do the things you always wanted to do?” Surely he had imagined a future for himself. A time where he would have made it, been proud of everything he had done. Jester is sure that she would still want to be with him, no matter where he went or where his mind took him.

Oh no. Maybe this was too much again. She’s _definitely_ taking advantage of their closeness, Caleb still distant and woozy from his wounds. But it’s too late now, she’s determined and so eager for him, and she knows he wouldn’t mind in the end.

“Not that we would, of course, we have this family _here_ and so much to do, still… but I dunno, it’s fun to think about, don’t you think?” She blinks up at him, tilting her head curiously, wondering if she could hear his thoughts better the closer she looked.

She really liked his chin. She was glad it was still there, just as strong as she remembered even after today’s turn of events.

Caleb for a moment honestly imagines it.

He imagines travelling with just him and Jester. The two of them free, long after the matter with the Chained Oblivion and Uk'otoa and every other strange and eldritch being is settled. He imagines her hands in his, forever and ever, him showing her Blumenthal and the perfect lazy rivers. The two of them discovering the hidden nooks of Nicodranas _together_ , her getting to experience her own city without being worried about being hidden, being her mother's secret.

A world free… his heart clenches. He thinks of the heat against his face, the way he could see blackened forms moving and then collapsing in the remains of what was once his childhood home. _Mother. Father._ The bedroom where he learned _Dancing Lights_ to save his mother's oil, the table where the three of them ate dinner, the first Frumpkin curled around Bren's feet. All up in flames.

He doesn't know if he's ready to let go of that fever dream. Every time he finds Essik he convinces the traitorous drow to teach him more dunamantic secrets. Every day he's becoming more and more powerful… and what then? What if he saves his parents? A Bren Ermendrud who's happy is not a Caleb Widogast who stares fearfully at the goblin thrown into his cell. Is not a dirty smelly man who stumbles into Trostenwald and sees a blue hand extending out.

_Hi, I'm Jester!_

He doesn't want to _think about all that_ , but everyday it's getting harder not to.

Some days Caleb swears he's just made of thoughts.

"Oh, you'd get bored of my company," he teases, thumb brushing over her knuckles. His heart breaks at their closeness. "I'd keep dragging you to so many libraries…" He looks down at her hands. "But you'd paint dicks all over the pages," he realizes. "We'd pull so many pranks together, wherever we went."

Jester audibly sighs in relief at his response. “Oh, _so many!_ ” she agrees, tugging his hands into her lap. “We could try pastries in different towns, and rate them, and then tell people about the Traveler…” she rambles, but she can’t help it. It’s such a nice dream. “Plus, libraries are good, so long as they have _smut_ for me.” She grins wickedly, so selfishly entertained at the way Caleb flushes and looks away as she puts thoughts in his head. Astrid couldn’t do _that_ , now could she? She certainly had her chance, and it was Jester who was here, holding his hands, talking about fantasies of the future.

“I… think it would be fun,” she murmurs, hating how honest and desperate she sounds. “I want to be able to paint Blumenthal for you. Better.”

Caleb looks down at her silently. For so long, the town he came from has been a mark of shame. The others at the academy would look at him with pitying eyes when he mentioned where he was from, and he learned immediately not to say so anymore. It was difficult enough trying to talk like them, imitate their mannerisms, but Bren _did_ it. Trent always said that was one of the things about Bren that caught his attention.

_You know how to be careful_ , he said, thin lips pulling into a smile. _I respect that in a student._

Not careful enough, evidently.

Not careful enough to lose the entirety of himself to the flames, to the murder of his parents. He thinks most of Trent's compliments must've been backwards to what he truly meant. _You're foolish. I can use that in a student_. That feels more right.

Caleb can feel his heart thudding wildly in his chest. His eyes flit to her lips and he _burns_ , he's so obvious. He's so obvious. Never careful enough. "Blumenthal would be honoured if you painted it," he whispers.

She leans towards him, fingers tapping against his palms mindlessly, new touches to keep his interest.

“But would _you_ like it?” Jester whispers back. She swallows, and so desperately she wants him to say _yes,_ to let her in his world, let her know him. Jester knows that Caleb is strong, that he’s smarter than anyone she knows, and that she wants to keep coming back to him, no matter what is in his head or what gives him that distant look in his eyes.

But… she wants to travel there with him. Prove that he was more than just a place, more than his mistakes. He meant something to her, that’s why she _saved_ him, cleaned his blood, and would continue to give herself every single day.

“Would you maybe like it more than Astrid?”

Caleb's eyes _snap_ to her face when she says _Astrid_ and her cheeks go _bright_ purple, regretting the sentence. But she _had_ to know. It was itching at her, making her tail twitch. she holds Caleb’s gaze, searching for truth. “Did she paint? Could she have painted it better, because she knows it better? Do you think I could paint it… from memory, someday?”

_Scheisse_. Caleb just stares. It’s amazing what hearing a name you've thought so often, that you've said yourself, can feel coming from another person's lips. _Her_ lips. Her perfect blue lips, teeth sinking into her lower one. He wants to trace over her freckled cheeks, wants to feel her flush, but he can also barely breathe, also feels _rattled_.

"Oh, _Jester_ ," he says, because it's all he can think to say. "First off," he says, "I would _love_ it. I love all your art. Everything you choose to make. All the unicorns and dicks and flowers." His throat feels dry, and he reaches out hesitantly, his fingers cupping under her chin. They're sitting too close, he's too _close_ , but he can't make himself move away. Not when she's looking at him like _that_.

"And second of all…" He remembers his thumb caressing Astrid's scar before he pulled away his hand from hers. Closing the door behind him, listening to his own footfalls as he gazed up at the Rexxentrum sky. "You don't need to… compare yourself with Astrid." His jaw clenches and unclenches. "She was important to me, but it's not as if… _that was more than a decade ago_." He doesn't know if he's saying it to her or himself.

He sighs. "I visited her in Rexxentrum," he confesses, thumb running over Jester's cheek. "And she was… happy with the lies. Happy inflicting _his_ lies and pain on others. That hurt." He hums under his breath, the tune weak. "I'm proud of myself for leaving her doorstep."

Jester’s pout somehow deepens as he speaks. “You—visited _her?_ ” She wants to pull away from Caleb, no matter how nice it feels, but for _what?_ To give away the obvious jealousy stinging in her eyes?

Her gaze darts to Caleb’s lap, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes. He _did_ say she shouldn’t compare… she shouldn’t, she really shouldn’t. He _likes_ her paintings, Astrid was _ages_ ago.

And yet… she’s greedy for more. It was _Astrid_ who knew Caleb, knew him with her handsome nose, and short brown hair. Not Jester, with her silly romantic ideas, and ridiculous pranks.

… Right?

“Good thing you came back. Can you imagine how worried Nott would have been? Or Beau? And more importantly, _me?_ ”

"More importantly," he laughs, giving her a small smile. It's impossible to compare Nott and Jester and Beau—the three of them have affected his life in ways that are all beyond reproach. Beau as a confidant and a friend, as difficult as he was and their friendship blossoming over endless flare-ups and miscommunications. Nott who knew him in his worst moments, who he travelled with for so long. The two of them, just the two of them. He knew so little of her then, but she was as scared as he was and that was enough.

It's impossible to compare any of them, and it's incredible Jester would want to. He wonders if she can't quite see how remarkable she is, how she's touched everyone's life in ways that are impossible to calculate. A million kind words, gentle touches, cheerful jokes, funny pranks. She named herself _Jester_ because she wanted to make people laugh, have their attention on her, and… and maybe he's been failing her in some regard.

It's been a balancing act, trying to show his admiration for this dynamite woman and keeping his own selfish desires in check. He wonders if he's teetered off this balance without even meaning to.

" _Most_ importantly," he says, because he means it and she needs to hear it. _Some days the distance I keep from you makes me want to break, do you know that?_ She didn't, of course. "There was a time I wouldn't have. I've become a… more resilient person, being with the Mighty Nein. You all—the group, this journey—made me want to be more… emotionally resilient." He looks at Jester. "None of us are going anywhere."

She bites her lower lip, tail twitching furiously behind her. Jester nods, trying to be satisfied with his answer, even though it would always poke the back of her mind.

“Oh—you’re right, you’re right. You’re a little more than a stinky wizard now, aren’t you?” She winks. “You’re _our_ stinky wizard.”

He pokes her nose with his blackened finger, smiling a little at how she immediately scrunches her nose and criss-crosses her eyes to gaze widely at it. _Yes, yours_.

Dunamancy. Twisting time and fate. A house on fire, the snowflakes glittering as they fell around him. Astrid's head turned to look at him, eyebrows furrowed and smile catching. A gasping breath at the sanatorium, a heretical woman gazing intently at him with her hair falling ragged along her pale face. Barefoot through a forest, rocks and sticks and dirt against his toes.

_Yes, yours._

"You're our prankster cleric," he says, fingers running over her knuckles. They've been holding hands all this time. They're sitting so close, both of them leaning in some kind of eager anticipation, and Caleb knows how this looks, knows what the thudding in his heart means.

Jester smiles wide, a soft giggle escaping her lips.

She should say something, probably something like, _That’s me, that’s my job!_ or, _That’s what the Traveler taught me!_ Some sort of excuse for his compliments, the hazy look in his eyes against her. How far did that look go? Did he look at Astrid like this? Did he hold her hands like this, or flush like this at her?

She kisses him. Quickly, just a peck on his lips. Her lips are still puckered as she pulls away, blinking rapidly, cheeks growing bright with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry!” She squeaks. “I just—I‘m really excited to have you back—” she pulls her hands away, covering her mouth instead.

Staring at him still, watching for any shifts in his eyes, his skin, his hands which she… she kind of missed.

_Ah._ Caleb’s heart feels like it's tearing in his chest and he's opening his mouth, closing it in the same breath. Repeatedly. His face _burns_ and he wonders if his eyes look glassy. Wonders if his smile is helpless. Useless. Uselessly in love.

_It's too late_ , he told Yasha. But here she is, flushing with perfect violet blooming like flowers over her cheek. Perched up on his bed she's made thoroughly her own.

He doesn't know why she's apologizing, not when those same words were caught in her throat before she blurted them out. "But I'm—I'm the one who should be sorry," he tries to explain, blinking. And then, " _Ohhhhh, Jester_."

She sinks further into herself.

Normally she might tease Caleb, giggle about how she made him blush again, how she took him by surprise. But _this…_ meant a little more to her than a tease.

And… his smile is different, and his eyes haven’t stopped. If anything, he’s looking at her cowering away, her wide eyes, her dead giveaways despite her excuses.

He has _definitely_ never looked at Astrid like this. Right?

Jester moves her fingers to her cheeks, attempting to cool her furious blush, eyes ducking away. “I don’t get it, why would _you_ be sorry?” She asks.

Caleb gives her a weak smile. His own hand snakes to his face, feeling the heat of his cheeks before he rubs his neck. "Jester," he says. He intended for a sentence after his utterance of her name, but he basically breathes it out. Like her name is a verse for the most exquisite spell.

_You don't know terrible I really am,_ he wants to say, but he remembers Jester between him and Trent, remembers the two of them in Darktow where she asked him if he ever felt… stupid. _When you really like somebody_ , she'd trailed off, voice lilting and uncertain… 

Caleb is reaching for her face, hands over her own. He's not sure what he intends, but then he's leaning close. Her eyes are so _big_ , they tell such a _story_ , and they widen further as he sinks his lips against hers into a kiss. Softly. Hesitantly. His hands curl over hers and pull them down, and he kisses her again.

_Stupid_ , he thinks, closing his eyes. _You're so stupid, Widogast._

But the sigh between Jester's lips is louder than the brutal monologue inside his own head.

_Oh._ Jester doesn’t know what to do with her hands as she feels Caleb against her. Thankfully, he’s guiding her, and her hands finally settle against his chest. She can feel how quickly his heart is beating, how real this truly is. It’s strange she could tell how much this meant to him by the pace of his heart, and the gentle touch of his lips.

She hums, and the flush on her face shifts from embarrassment to… _pleased._ Jester _loved_ getting the answer she wanted, loved when Caleb squashed all her doubt away.

_Take that, Astrid._

In response, her fingers curl in his shirt, pulling him a little closer. Accepting him, _claiming_ him. He was so patient with this, so kind and understanding. Her fingers twist in his braid a little, and she wishes she hadn’t tied it so tightly.

She giggles as she pulls back, gazing up at him with a sly smile. “Oh…I think I get it now,” she teases, leaning forward to stare at his lips again.

His hands tighten over hers. "You mean… so much to me," he says, each word crushing and freeing in equal measure. Her grip is cold, bracing, and his eyes run over her fingers, her wrist adorned with beautiful trinkets, before he focuses on her face. "There's a lot about me I have to tell you," he says, voice _terrified_. She deserves to know and he's stiff with fear. "Someday." Her eyebrows furrow and he whispers, "Soon." He stares at her, just _pleading_ in his expression. For more time. More space.

"That was a nice kiss," he says. "I'm sorry I'm so out-of-practice." And like open floodgates, he leans close to kiss her once more, this time deeper with his tongue grazing her teeth.

Jester inhales sharply, hardly ready. It didn’t matter how many books she read, she could have never been prepared for what Caleb was doing now. It was so much _better_ than the books, and her tail involuntarily wraps around one of his wrists as she melts into his touch. 

Caleb claimed he had much to tell her, lots to explain, but she didn’t _care._ Nothing could change the way she cared about him, nothing could change the way he was kissing her. She feels terribly shy all at once, following his lead as she opens her mouth to him, her hands traveling to his face, tickled by his stubble.

This was _good._ She wasn’t even thinking of Astrid anymore, just thinking about Caleb, every word he’s said to her, every kind moment, every new touch of his lips. Every moment he listened to her complain and tease, stood up for her when her confidence wasn’t enough… _This_ is what she meant to him.

Slowly their mouths find a pattern against each other. She's also not practiced and there's something so innocent in this, something so gentle in a way she _squeals_ as she falls back against her own pillows and musses up her own frilly pink blanket. He leans over her, kissing her nose and then her cheeks, finding his way back to her perfect mouth.

His hand is in her hair and his fingers run through it, braid hanging over one shoulder. He breathes in her cinnamon scent—her perfumes are one of his favourite smells now, period—and kisses her, again and again. His hand finds its way to her waist and he sighs her name. " _Jester_ ," he sighs.

He murmurs things in this mess that's part-Zemnian and part-Common. How she's lovely. How he loves her laugh. The sound of her voice. He pulls her close, helplessly, uselessly and _smiles_ as her muscular arm pulls him closer in turn.

Jester feels hazy. All she can hear is her own name, Caleb whispering things against her skin, her sighing prettily in response.

The braid is undone by now, completely by Jester’s desperate hands threading through it, pulling him closer. She believes him. Believes every movement of his lips, both words and kisses.

She hopes he believes her too.

Jester playfully bites at Caleb’s lips, giggling to herself as she hears the pleasant sigh back. “You _like_ me,” she whispers, trying to sound light and teasing, but it comes out more breathless in its execution. She kisses him again, tail snaking around his waist now, mindful of his wounds.

“Better than Astrid?” She asks slyly, kissing his cheeks.

The dull flashes of pain over his shoulder feels like nothing now. He huffs a soft laugh at the question, he can't help it, and just sits for a moment with the realization that he's _laughing_ , hovering over _Jester_. He can feel his mind working itself furiously in the background, ticking like clockwork, trying to make him flinch away from her touch, but…

There's time for that later. He couldn’t pull away from her if he tried. Caleb just focuses on the brightness of Jester's gaze and traces over her cheekbones with his thumb. "Better than everyone," he offers, and laughs, even louder, when Jester rubs his stubble. She has such a fixation on his chin.

"So ja. _Oui_ ," he says, _yes_ in Infernal. He's sure his pronunciation is awful. "Indeed, better than Astrid. So please don't worry about her, okay?"

His entire face turns further pink. "Yes, I like you very, very much."

Jester bites her lip, victory shining in her expression. He looks so defensive about his affections, so desperate for _her_. She wonders if mama would be proud, or if she _knew_ all along. She had _so much_ to tell her about… later.

Jester pulls him back, kissing Caleb deeply, reeling him back in to focus on _her_. After all, she wanted him too. Jester presses her tiny fangs against his lips, their laughter dissolving away, and her tail sneaks under his shirt.

“Good,” Jester whispers back, determined she has Caleb’s attention again. “I really like you too.”

Caleb gazes down at her, strands of red trailing low. His braid completely undone, his long hair is a mess like hers, and he hums softly under his breath. Perhaps someday her confession won't ache him as much as it elates him.

That possibility hurts to think about.

But right now he just presses kisses into her neck, and then her sternum, breathing against the bright light of her tattoos. She hums softly and her fingers feel like an anchor in his hair.

He lets himself indulge in the intimacy.


End file.
